Brie. Like the cheese.

Today while at Trader Joe's I foolishly bought some goat milk brie. I should've known better. Brie is my favorite type of cheese, but the only form in which I can eat goat cheese is with a slather of blueberry or cranberry preserve around it (a version also available at Trader Joe's).

Now I have a whole rind of goat milk brie that I must consume. And I just happen to have a bottle of Merlot left over from dinners with Buddy over the weekend. What sadness (and detriment to productivity)...

Which reminds me, I must be careful to cut in wedges of angles measured around the center. Even if I am by myself, I cannot "cut off the nose" (or "point the Brie," according to Wikipedia) and commit some horrible social faux pas, can I? Or I wonder, if I am by myself, then maybe it's not a social faux pas, but rather, an asocial faux pas...

(The wine must already be getting to me...)

What I Mean When I Say "Japanese-American" Food, or, I Am a Horrible Cook

Yesterday I tried out a vegan panna cotta recipe from the Gochiso magazine I picked up at a local Nijiya store. By the time I finished making it I had been reminded of one fact:

I am a horrible cook. And I am an even worse baker.

In Yoshimoto Banana's Kitchen the protagonist describes how she had to learn patience to become a good cook. She had to take time to wash and cut things properly. She had to wait until pans heated thoroughly. She had to wait until things cooled down. She had to measure and weigh ingredients accurately. In the kitchen, to be a good cook, she could not rush.

Well, I'm just bad at that. In fact, I am horrible not only at being patient, but also at measuring properly, mixing properly, even getting the right ingredients together. I am too lazy to wash two bowls, so I just mix in one. I am too lazy and cheap to assemble the necessary ingredients, so I make (often fatal) substitutions. If a recipe calls for sifting flour, I won't even bother making it.

But there is one thing that does get me to make things: the thought of wasting food, or put more bluntly, knowing that something will spoil unless I use it—now.

That was what led me to make this vegan panna cotta. I've only had soy milk spoil on me once in my life, and I was not going to let it happen again. So there I was, Saturday morning, making vegan panna cotta.

The recipe reminds me of what someone said about Japanese-American (or was it Hawaiian?) cooking: Every dish must contain tofu or jello—or both. Of course this is a lie, but I do like the Tofu Key Lime Jello Pie that my family friend always made for us (and for which she gave me the recipe, and upon remembering it, I think I'll have to make it soon). Anyway, here is the recipe from Gochiso, and below is more play-by-play of the disaster that transpired in my kitchen.


Tofu Panna Cotta (recipe by Kei Hasegawa, printed in Gochiso magazine)
Makes 8 servings

1 silk tofu
1 cup soy milk
2/3 sticks agar [the kind from a Japanese store]
1 cup maple syrup
1/3 cup olive oil
Peel of 1 lemon
Black nectar [that's molasses, right?], to taste, for sauce

1. Soften the stick agar as instructed. [At Japanese stores it's called 棒寒天.]
2. Heat the tofu in the microwave and turn into a paste using a whipper.
3. Drain the stick agar and combine with soy milk and lemon peel in a pot, heating to melt the agar. Bring to boil.
4. Once (3) boils, add to (2) while straining.
5. Add maple syrup and olive oil to (4) and pour into preferred mold(s). Chill.
6. When chilled, cut to preference and dress with black nectar [or molasses, if I'm right].


I'm sure the real thing is lovely. My version was not so felicitous. I'll start with the smaller disasters and move my way up.

- One cup maple syrup might be too much, though this is hardly a problem, since I love excessively sweet things. But for what I made, I think I could've used less. (Of course I didn't have molasses anyway, so without the final sauce, this was just fine.)

- I didn't have agar. I'm sorry, this was already non-vegan before I got started. I used gelatin powder instead (with a "sell by" date of 2009.09.29...but for gelatin powder, does it matter?). I think it didn't matter ultimately, but I felt a pang of guilt making vegan panna cotta with gelatin.

- Since I didn't know what a whipper (ホイッパー) was, I used a rubber spatula to make a paste out of the tofu. Except that was hardly possible. (Also, I should've drained the heated tofu before I attempted to paste it.)

- I didn't have a lemon, so I used an orange. And instead of using peels I grated it. That was just my misreading of the recipe. It made for a sweeter taste, not as refreshing as it could've been.

- Rather than straining the soy milk mixture into the tofu, I attempted to "strain" the tofu into the soy milk. This wasn't such a bad idea (since the tofu was hardly a paste at this point), except that it wasn't possible.

- Since the combination of the tofu and soy milk mixture hardly looked ideal, I used a hand mixer at that point to blend it together. Then I thought, "Oh, maybe this is what he meant by 'whipper.'" (Indeed, a Google Image search for ホイッパー calls up whisks and hand mixers. ::sigh::)

- After adding the olive oil (the one good choice I made—using the Persian Lime flavor EVOO that Buddy's mom got me for Christmas) there was a disturbing film of oil at the top of the mixture. I had no idea how to get rid of it—hence the film of oil at the top of the ones in the photo.


All this made a mess of me and my kitchen. I tell you, I am sticking to my Campbell's soup casseroles and tofu/Jello pies next time.

[P.S. I must say, however, that the recipe is great: Despite my lack of cooking skills, the final product tastes good—creamy and sweet, surprisingly light. If I had treated the tofu more thoroughly, the visual texture would be even better as well.]

"Death is cheap. Life...is precious."

Last night Buddy and I returned to the Belly Up to follow up on our Lisa Hannigan live success with yet another winner: Stephen Malkmus and the Jicks.

Ah, my favorite Solana Beach venue with the Laser Eyes Shark. When we got there the opener was already playing—Ty Segall...and I'm assuming the three other people who make up the band "Ty Segall." I'm always made happy when I hear bands that can change something in the air with their music. And with Ty Segall (the man and the band), each time they started a new song it was as if something clicked into place—and with music that I can only describe as being rock-ish (in a good way), they seemed to be doing something interesting up there on that stage. As in, "Hey, these guys are doing something interesting." It was a good thing.

Each time I see Stephen Malkmus I worry that he's going to snap in two, he so much resembles a twig. But Buddy and I were quite happy with the music we heard last night, with so much energy that I don't know where Malkmus gets it from with that frame of his. As much as I enjoyed Ty Segall, the performance by Stephen Malkmus and the Jicks (must say the whole band name) felt that much more mature, that much more...clean. Organized. Pulled together? In a loud and rambunctious way.

Mirror Traffic is a fun album, the few times I've gotten to listen to it (not counting last night's live). What live could we go to next? Maybe something at The Casbah...

Ah, Kindle.

I was reading an issue of Newsweek from November 2007 (I know, I know) and its cover story about the (then) brand new Amazon Kindle. (This is why I love reading old issues of Newsweek. I know who wins the 2008 election!)

The story discussed Amazon CEO Jeff Bezos's venture to improve on the book (which should not be confused with making it go away). Bezos's argument is that, while books are great and can hardly be replaced, they can be improved by going digital—with added features and conveniences. With a single Kindle it's possible to read numerous books, connect to the Internet to purchase new ones, read the daily paper, change the font size of any text, and perform other nifty tricks that we can't with a traditional book. These factors make sense, but the question remained in the article: Is that in fact an improvement on the traditional book?

From the perspective of interaction design, Bezos and the Kindle team emphasized the ability of the book to "disappear" during the reading experience—a magical feature they wanted to replicate with the Kindle. Back in 2007 apparently the jury was still out on this question; I'm curious to see what's happened in the four years since. (Since I've never operated a Kindle, I couldn't say.) I think I can name instances in which my MacBook has "disappeared" when I was really into reading something onscreen...so the replication seems not impossible. But still, I like that I can give and receive books (with handwritten messages inside!) and also borrow and lend them—which is another kind of social networking that can't quite be replicated by e-readers.

Pure and Rare

I often wonder how some people come to make things, how they get the desire to produce something (new, creative, beautiful, etc.) out of pieces, materials, ingredients—things—around them. Homo faber seems to be a label only for some (but then I should find out what "make" means in that context), since I've never known what that process feels like.

My friend is someone who makes jewelry, and I've often wondered about the processes she goes through to move from conception of a piece to its production. (You can see her work as Purea Accessory here and here. Yes, this is a plug; no, she did not put me up to this.) Where does she get the inspiration? How does she make her hands move so as to realize the idea that was born in her head? Once she finishes making something, does she ever want to go back and change it? Is a piece a "success" even if it deviates from the original vision? I wonder.

Like many hobbies, I am also curious when something becomes a job or an occupation, as opposed to something one does for fun or to pass the time. I wonder if the process of "making" changes, or becomes laden with a different meaning? Would it be more responsibility, something more negative and burdensome? I wonder.

Regardless, if you are looking for jewelry, I have now introduced you to one possible option for a designer/creator/maker. (The image is of her necklace with egg-shaped white freshwater pearls on a gold-filled chain. ::sigh::)

a Very Short Introduction

A couple of weeks ago I read Jonathan Culler's Literary Theory: A Very Short Introduction (from the Oxford University Press series) for the fourth time. (I've made it a habit to read it every fall ever since I came back to school.) I thought maybe it would help me think about theory a little bit more productively, but...no such luck. (But that's my own fault, not that of the book...)

Culler organizes the book (very short indeed, clocking in at 132 pages for the main text) not by schools of thought but rather by the approaches those various schools take to examine different topics. So, by moving from topics such as sexuality to the meanings of sentences, Culler explains how different theoretical frameworks enhance our understanding of the objects we study, as well as our understandings of the theoretical frameworks themselves.

The book helps me most by reminding me of the important texts I should be reading (or...should have read three years ago). The book is from 1997 so it's been a while, but many of the fundamental texts remain the same, for obvious reasons. And of course, there is always the fun of reading a Very Short Introduction. Who wouldn't want to read one for The Earth, or Quantum Theory, or The Mind? Seriously.

it is not funny to think of a jens lekman song right now.

I saw a reference to (what I guess) is an article by Karen Kelsky titled "Intimate Ideologies: Transnational Theory and Japan's 'Yellow Cabs'" in a chapter from Trespasses, a collection of works by the late Masao Miyoshi. Kelsky's article was published in a 1994 issue of Public Culture, and it discusses the topic of "Yellow Cabs" popularized by the (Japanese?) media and referencing Japanese women who choose to enter into casual, sexual relationships with non-Japanese men (for various reasons).

Since I read the article quickly (i.e., shallowly) I've probably missed its nuances; its argument, however, seems to be this: that Japanese women seem to challenge traditional Japanese ideologies of gender (and race) but in fact ultimately reinforce those hierarchies of Japanese and "Other," male and female, etc. by their behavior as "yellow cabs" (which, as Kelsky notes, is a derogatory term; so I apologize, but I, too, use it only for economy). Kelsky states, "Both sides of the debate between Japanese women and men over yellow cab behavior share a commitment to reaffirming the utter otherness of the Other, the unbridgable gap between Japan and the West, the centrality of Japan in the universe" (475).

Reading this made me want to read (more) works by the writers she references, mainly Yamada Eimi, Ieda Shoko, and Murakami Ryu. Except now I am paranoid that I only want to read them because I want to reinscribe ideologies of racial and gender hierarchy. Oh no... But what I mean is, I am fascinated by practices that can be critiqued as being not really upturning social orders at all; and I am also fascinated by those very critiques that can challenge or be complicit with the problematic practices of area studies. (I am not saying that Kelsy's critique is one or the other; I am just trying to practice thinking about the pitfalls of area studies and transnational studies...)